


Those Who Favor Fire

by elisewrites



Series: Better Unrequited [3]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, POV Rio (Good Girls), Resolved Sexual Tension, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:28:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23622334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisewrites/pseuds/elisewrites
Summary: “Elizabeth,” he tries again, unable to mask his frustration as it bleeds into his tone, but it’s like he hasn’t even spoken because she’s shoving at him again, more forcefully this time, and it’s like a switch has been flipped in him as he captures her hand mid-push. He spins them, backing her up against the brick wall of the building, and she steels her arm in the same moment that she meets his dark gaze.He slowly lowers her hand from his chest, squeezing it once in warning as he grits out, “Don’t.”・・・Rio finds Beth drinking at the bar they first hooked up in and decides to crash her melancholy outing. Snark, tension, and brutal honesty ensue.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Series: Better Unrequited [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764664
Comments: 28
Kudos: 319





	Those Who Favor Fire

**Author's Note:**

> note: this takes place in-between 3.05 and 3.06. it was canon compliant when i started writing it, but what can you do.  
> title is an excerpt from “Fire and Ice” by Robert Frost.  
> send me prompts, suggestions, theories, or just a hello @elise-jupiterstyle on tumblr!

If there’s a way to wipe the blood from one's conscience just the same as there is to wipe it from one's hands, then Rio has yet to find it.

It doesn't matter how long his hands have been dirty. It doesn't matter that they're caked in so much blood, he can't see the skin beneath it anymore. Sure, he may be numb to the shock that normally comes with watching a body go lifeless at his feet, but feeling the additional layer of blood it leaves behind when the day is done is something that perpetually chips away at his sanity.

It’s not that he feels guilty. He’d learned some time ago, long before he’d ever taken up a position with any extent of authority, that making business matters personal will inevitably break every man that fails to draw the line between the two. The very first time he’d caught himself blurring it, he hadn’t wasted any time in procuring a set of rules for himself before he made an oversight he couldn’t recover from. He’d strengthened his self-discipline and abided by it like an obscure code of chivalry.

That was before he fell into the pattern of continuously lowering his gun from Elizabeth’s head.

Because, to be frank, that boss of hers was dead long before she gave her spiel about the intricacies of print-making, grasping at straws and pulling a lifeline out of nothing when her mistakes finally caught up with her. He’s been in the game long enough to know that someone like Lucy would’ve let their shit slip the minute he was out of sight — hell, he’s dealt with the fallout of Elizabeth’s ploys enough times to know that her connections aren’t any sort of reliable. The only reason that the girl was still breathing after she'd climbed into the back of the van was tied to Elizabeth's ignorant belief that she could save everyone with nothing more than sheer will. Rio’s patience for that shit ran empty long before she emptied three chambers into his chest.

He’d caught a glimpse of her face in the fleeting moment where he’d turned back to her, just before he’d climbed into the van himself. She’d clutched at her stomach like _she’d_ taken the bullet, just like she did when he’d shot her husband in her dining room, and he figures that it’s as sure of a way as any to get his message across if he can’t do the same to her.

In his experience, there are two ways for a situation like hers to go: either he pushes her until she wises up and learns her place, or he pushes her until she breaks. 

Back when she’d landed him in the ICU, and even more so during his time in that hotel room, Rio was more sure of which he’d prefer than he was of anything else at the time. Lately, though, he’s been finding it more and more difficult to discern his own intentions behind half the shit he does, and that? That’s a sort of recklessness that he can’t afford.

Still, it’s not like he hasn’t rounded up a list of excuses as long as his rap sheet. 

It’s not like he hasn’t been running through it for the past fifteen minutes now.

Rio’s head hits the back of his seat with a light thump as he shifts restlessly, his eyes dragging over the vivid neon sign that’s staring him down through the windshield. He’s stalling, hesitance pulling every muscle in him taut as his mind whirs over the countless different reasons for why he shouldn’t go in. He damn well may be losing his mind — hell, probably already lost it somewhere in-between the first and last time he’d put a gun in Elizabeth’s hand — because none of them are sticking around long enough to make him turn the engine back on and leave well enough alone.

He can see her through the front window of the building — can just barely make out her silhouette, seated at the otherwise deserted bar. She’s practically folded over the counter, her posture presenting a fair testament to her exhaustion, and it’s a far cry from the way she’d been holding herself the last time she was drinking here — chest puffed up, a lock of hair between her fingers, and a daring glint in her eyes that told him everything he’d never get the chance to hear her say out loud.

He feels flat out mental for recalling that night as one of simpler times.

It’s difficult not to, though, given the perpetual state of grey they seem to exist in now — nevermind his tendency to cross the boundaries between them like he’s filling in a coloring book with watercolors. Each time he steps a little too close, lets his touch linger for a second too long, the urge to counteract it is as compulsive as his need to re-check the seat belt on Marcus’ booster after he’s already strapped him in. He can make out the turbulent nature of her reaction whenever it happens — gets the sense that he’s managed to frighten her at one point or another, though she covers it as expertly as she always has. If anything, she’s gotten better at masking her emotions since he last saw her, which is — 

Well, maybe he was able to teach her something after all.

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Rio pulls himself from his thoughts as he pushes the car door open. He grabs his phone from the center console and hops down onto the pavement, his gaze still locked on Elizabeth’s form as he locks his car behind him and starts towards the front entrance.

He’s markedly unfazed by the lack of a crowd as he pushes through the doorway, breaking his gaze from her to take in the familiar surroundings of the gentrified bar. He’s been in here plenty since they first hooked up, but his visits are always inhibited by the reminder of that night. Gyved by the memory of her eyeing him over her husband’s shoulder, and the feeling of her snowy curves stretching for miles beneath his palm. 

This time is no exception — save for the fact that she’s more than just a memory tonight. 

The electric blue light fixtures above the bar illuminate every inch of its surface, a long shadow stretching across the worn wooden flooring where Elizabeth’s form disrupts it. Her back is turned to him where she sits to his left, and he can read the exhaustion weighing heavy on her limbs from where he stands. An army green jacket that he’s grown accustomed to seeing on her covers her top half, while her legs are clad in dark wash denim that practically camouflages itself with the stool she’s seated on. Her strawberry blonde locks pour over the narrow span of her slumped shoulders, and the urge to thread them between his fingers has shame stirring deep within his chest and burning at the back of his throat. 

He clears it, jaw tensing, knowing full well that he won’t make it out of here in one piece if he doesn’t pull himself together.

Burying his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket, Rio reaches the bar in a few measured strides, though he slows his pace once Elizabeth’s profile comes into view.

Her face is free of makeup, a natural blush dotting the apples of her cheeks, and he can’t help but follow the trail of it down her neck and across her chest as he braces a hand against the countertop, leveraging himself onto the stool beside her. Her head doesn’t whip in his direction like he’d expected it to — the motion is more of a reluctant loll as her gaze finds him, her blue eyes hooded but vigilant. Her lips part silently as she regards him with an expression he can’t place, and her shoulders straighten as a wave of apprehension seems to wash over her. 

He returns her gaze patiently, curiously, waiting for her to spit some snide comment at him, but all she gives him is a sharp huff before she’s shaking her head softly.

Her eyes have already begun to wander from him as she mutters, “Do you ever take a day off?”

Rio quirks an eyebrow at that, his gaze dancing over her features as he attempts to get a read on her. Her guard is raised high — she’s closed off and distant, and he honestly can’t say that he blames her. Part of him reasons that he should be grateful for it — it’s easier for him to justify giving her the same treatment this way — but he didn’t come in here with his traditional intention of knocking her off-balance with sadistic cheer or tempered fury. He allowed those parts of himself to slip through the cracks of his mask because he knew they’d make her feel just as conflicted and hurt as he did. 

This is different, somehow, from the reactions he’s familiar with. This isn’t a front she’s putting up for him. She’s somehow just as vulnerable as she is closed off. Hollow.

He knows the feeling.

“How you mean?”

Elizabeth forces a chuckle from her throat, a noise that’s void of any humor. “From haunting me.”

A heavy breath escapes him as he knits his fingers together in front of him, dropping his head forward a bit and tilting it towards her. Exhaustion is etched bluntly into the lines of her pale face, resting beneath her eyes in the form of purple bags and tugging the corners of her full lips downward. Her eyes are a bit glassy, her lids a bit puffy, and he gets the sense that the half-cup of bourbon she’s nursing isn’t the main culprit. She looks about as tired as he feels himself, if not more, and he hates that the sight of it adds a bit more weight to his chest.

“You ‘member what I said? ‘Bout how long I been in this?”

Elizabeth’s gaze floats back to him at that, her brows furrowing slightly like she’s trying to figure out what angle he’s working on her. Rio holds it patiently, keeping his expression carefully neutral as he considers that this is the first time he’s been able to do so without any of his residual anger bubbling to the surface.

Elizabeth begins to nod a moment later, clearly having no clue as to where he’s going with this. He thinks that he prefers it this way, finding himself oddly pleased with the fact that he can still surprise her.

“If I wasn’t willin’ to get my hands dirty, I wouldn’t be breathin’ right now,” Rio says lowly, powering through when he sees an objection rising on her tongue. “It ain’t a choice when you this deep in the business, and this ain’t gonna work for neither of us if you still thinkin’ that my business works the same as your card shop.”

Elizabeth is silent for a few beats, chewing on her thoughts as her jaw works furiously before she bites out, “If this is your way of trying to justify what you did to Lu —”

She cuts herself off, her voice cracking on the syllable before she can get the rest of the name out. She exhales harshly, collecting herself before she continues.

“Your message was received loud and clear, thank you,” she croaks, disdain bleeding into the sardonically sweet phrase. She averts her gaze from his before tossing back the remainder of the bourbon in her glass. 

Rio rocks his jaw a bit, allowing her words to settle in the air like a thick fog of unspoken grievances. Part of him wants to rationalize with her, tell her that it was just business, that he would’ve done the same thing to anyone else in that woman’s position, that it didn’t have anything to do with her relation to Elizabeth — 

But it wouldn’t be the truth, not the whole of it, and he’s so goddamn tired of running in circles with her.

“There were four ladies there who could’a got the job done. It takes just one of ‘em to bring down the rest.”

His gaze tracks her thumb as it traces the bottom of her glass, dragging through the leftover condensation there. She doesn’t look up at him, her expression expertly obscured by the neutral mask she’s slipped on, and he hates that she’s so difficult to read right now.

“I’m tired of your sick games,” she says lowly, the edges of her tone sharpened like a warning.

Rio studies her carefully before diverting his gaze to his hands, tensing and relaxing his grip as an indecipherable emotion flares in his chest. He licks his lips, purses them, opting for silence in place of a response when she finally turns her gaze on him.

“Either I’m in it for good or I’m already dead.”

And right, he thinks, feeling the gravity of her resignation settling over his shoulders as he absorbs the familiar note of finality in her words.

_Are you going to kill me?_

Right.

The bartender steps out from the backroom then, noticing Rio from across the bar for the first time since he’d sat down. The air blooms with a darker spell of tension as he leaves Elizabeth’s words untouched between them, and he can feel her gaze burning through him as the guy strides over to them with an empty glass in hand.

“Can I get you anything, man?” He asks, dragging a worn dish rag over the base of the glass before tucking it in his back pocket.

“Gin. Neat, please.”

The guy nods at him, setting the glass on the counter in front of him before turning back to the shelves of liquor behind him. Another stiff beat of silence passes before Rio caves and glances at Elizabeth, apprehension beginning to prick at the back of his neck. Her curls are more unruly tonight, bracketing her face like a gold-plated frame, and his fingers tense absently as he refrains from brushing them away from her face.

The bartender turns back to them a moment later with a glass bottle in hand, pouring a generous amount of the clear liquor into Rio’s glass. He jerks his chin up at the guy, uttering a light _thanks_ as he reaches out for it, and the guy responds in kind with a swift nod before leaving them alone again.

Rio stares into his glass as the air thickens again, swirling the liquid around gently as he chews on a thought. Up until now, he’d been rigid in his self-discipline when it came to sharing things with Elizabeth. She’s made it clear that he has no business trusting her — that letting her see past the layers of intimidation and cruelty and hatred will only fuck him over in the end — but now, sitting here beside her, it’s more difficult than ever to remember why, because she doesn’t _look_ like a threat. She doesn’t _look_ like the woman who’d shot him and left him for dead. She looks weathered, exhausted. Defeated.

It’s like staring into a mirror.

“Startin’ to think I ain’t ever gonna see the last of you,” he tells her, tone wavering on the edge of playful, offering her more honesty in the simple comment than he’s bothered to give her where it matters lately.

He watches her expression shift with a new air of reflection, her brows furrowing as she turns a thought over in her head before some realization dawns on her like a bittersweet epiphany.

“It was always going to be her, wasn’t it?”

Rio’s lips press into a thin line, his eyes narrowing a bit as he studies her. He doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t deny it either, and something indecipherable flashes across her face. 

“You reassured her. You _comforted_ her, knowing she’d be dead once you were done with her,” she accuses, her tone low and oddly distant. He can make out the disbelief and the averseness, but her lack of shock is what stands out to him the most.

“You sayin’ I shoulda led with that?” He retorts, maintaining a controlled tone even as the blade of his frustration nicks his words. “How you think that woulda panned out?

“I’m saying that she didn’t deserve to die. She did what you asked because she _trusted_ you.”

“Trust kills, darlin’. You should know that better than anyone,” Rio counters without missing a beat, the words presenting like a loaded gun.

Elizabeth falls quiet at that, her doe eyes widening in alarm as she struggles to reign in her reaction. He watches her leap over hurdle after emotional hurdle through a leaden mask, not breaking his gaze from her as he lifts his glass to his lips. He catches the movement when her eyes drop to his mouth, and the air between them is reacquainted with the obscure tension from earlier.

Rio sets his glass back on the wooden countertop, fixing his gaze on it before he speaks again.

“What needed t’ happen was gon’ happen either way. ‘Least she wa’n’t waitin’ for it.”

And he sees it, then, out of the corner of his eye as he spins his glass — all the ways Elizabeth starts connecting shit in her head, realizing that they’ve already had this conversation, before she refrains from asking a question that she knows she doesn’t want the answer to _—_ and the silence that envelopes them after is almost amicable.

“She shouldn’t have been involved,” she replies a moment later, all traces of her righteousness fading into her exhaustion. 

“You bargained for your life with a product she designed, darlin’.”

Her gaze hardens into a glare at that, but there’s no fight in it. He raises a brow, daring her to disagree.

“I kept her out of it.”

“Yeah? Like you kept your lady friends from the PTA out of it way back when?”

Elizabeth scoffs at that, the sound seeming to ricochet like a bullet off the wooden flooring amidst the barren silence of the bar. 

“That’s not fair.”

“No?” Rio prompts, feigning curiosity as he shifts slightly in his seat. “'Cause from where I’m standin’, it all comes back to the loose ends you ain’t willin’ to handle yourself, thinkin’ you can still keep your hands clean.” 

“Well they’re dirtynow, aren’t they?” She drawls, clearly frustrated that he’s drawn the admission out of her. When he doesn’t immediately respond, she shoots him a hesitant glance, apprehension lurking in her wide eyes as she studies his expression.

Rio only nods in response, drumming the tips of his fingers softly against the counter. Frankly, he’s a bit put off by the utter lack of rage in him tonight, given that he’d barely been able to take her in without gritting his teeth when he’d made his reappearance. He thinks part of it might be because she’s got this haunted look about her tonight — this sort of distant, perturbed, glassy-eyed stare as if she’s replaying something in her head that she’s relented on pushing away. 

He stretches his neck, attempting to ring out some of the tension and exhaustion from it before refocusing his attention on her.

“Let me ask you somethin’,” he prompts quietly, gingerly, thumbing the rim of his glass as he gauges her reaction. He’s not asking for permission and he’s going to pose his question regardless, that much he’s sure is clear, but he studies the shifting tides of her expression for any hint of hesitance, trying to judge how much honesty she’s willing to give him.

She doesn’t show any signs of objection given that she barely reacts at all, only signifying that she’s heard him when she shifts in her seat, angling herself towards him and eyeing him expectantly. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth as he hesitates, wrangling with his better judgment, but the pocket of honesty they seem to have settled into has been gradually stripping him of his defenses. 

“Would you do it again?” 

For a brief moment, before the gravity of his question dawns on her, Elizabeth’s expression is perfectly blank. In the next, there’s confusion, her doe eyes narrowing and her copper brows furrowing before the uncertainty gives way to shock. He watches her work through it with an impassive gaze, noting the way she seems to flinch back from him as if his words have stung her.

“ _No_ ,” she answers, voice low and leaden with incredulity, and that throws him a bit too — the way her tone lacks its usual shrill quality whenever she’s disagreeing with him; the unwavering certainty that’s imbued into so brief a syllable.

The look she’s wearing isn’t one he’s too fond of, because it pulls him in too easily, coercing him into forgetting all the ways that they’ve wronged each other. It’s the same one he’s been seeing much more of lately, given that every week bears yet another reason why he should’ve handled her already, reminding him that part of the reason why he hasn’t is something he isn’t willing to come to terms with.

“A’ight then,” he says softly, breaking his gaze from hers as he lifts his glass to his lips. He can feel her eyes lingering on him, can sense her reeling from this sudden spell of honesty. She says nothing, though, the silence between them buzzing with unspoken thoughts and unnamed emotions as they divert their gazes from one another. 

Absently, Rio tunes into the distant ambiance of the outside world — two voices sharing a bout of laughter just beyond the walls of the bar while, farther out, a lone dog barks into the dead of night — considering that now would be as good of a time as any to end the night and leave her be. He’s seen for himself how the death of her boss has affected her, has gotten answers to questions he hadn’t ever foreseen himself asking — hell, it was a dumb idea to seek her out in the first place, and yet their time together feels oddly unfinished.

Her soft voice breaks through his muddled thoughts.

“She reminded me of you.”

When Rio tilts his head towards her, Elizabeth’s face is angled away from him, her gaze fixated on the contents of her glass. He studies her carefully, his brows drawing together when she offers nothing more in the way of explanation. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips before she pulls the lower one between her teeth, and even as his gaze narrows in on the movement, he can see her fingers fidgeting restlessly with the glass.

The longer the silence stretches on between them, filling with unspoken questions, the more visible the cracks in her armor become to him, and suddenly her wide eyes are brimming with unshed tears. He shifts against his stool when he clocks it, something sharp and unpleasant twisting in his chest as he angles his body in her direction. His knee just barely brushes against her denim-clad thigh, and it’s then that she finally looks up at him, her ashen features seeming to crumble as she finally gives in. 

“She was so _close_ , and the shots were _so_ _loud_ , it was like —”

Elizabeth chokes on a ragged breath, gasping a bit as she tries to steady herself, and the sound is like its own sort of gunshot as the implication promptly dawns on him.

“— Like _I_ was holding the gun, and all I could see was _you_ ,” She explains, her breathing coarse and lips twisted as the first tear falls. 

She rips her gaze from him, swiping at the tear like it’s betrayed her, and he purses his lips, raising a hand to rub at his jaw as he studies her thoughtfully. The skin of her throat bobs as she swallows thickly, and her voice is hoarse when she speaks again.

“I could never do it again. I don’t think I’ll ever get it out of my head.”

Rio glances over at his glass, suddenly unable to meet her eyes anymore.

“That’s the guilt. It’ll ease up at some point, but that shit’ll never leave you,” he rasps, unbothered by the bitterness that clings to his words. He knows he doesn’t owe her anything, least of all sympathy, but still — he knows the feeling far better than he thinks she ever will.

“Sounds like you speak from experience,” she replies, covertly brushing another traitorous tear from her cheek just as he shifts his gaze back to her. She sounds grateful for the diversion, and so he hums in confirmation, tilting his head to the side as he regards her with an emotion he can’t put a name to.

“We ain’t so different after all, huh?”

“Guess not,” she agrees, her voice steadier than it had been a minute before. When her eyes flit back to his, she squints at him like she’s trying to decipher something as she adds, “You seem pretty proud of yourself.”

He snorts at that, his lips tugging into a wry smirk as he retorts, “Pretty impressed you dropped your moral high ground, more like.”

She scoffs, leveling him with a deadpan stare. “Right, because _I’ve_ shot an innocent in cold blood.”

A jagged thread of indignation uncoils in his chest, and his words come out sharper than he’d intended when he drawls, “You stood there same as me, darlin’. It don’t make you any different than the rest of us just ‘cause you ain’t willin’ to handle your shit properly. That friend of yours is still dead, ain’t she?”

The following moments are painfully disquieting as the same dog from earlier begins to bark again, tainting the immaculate silence of the night around it with the hope of being acknowledged. Just beyond the building, there’s no longer the paired laughter of a couple roaming the streets, but the hum of a pricey sports car as it speeds past the building in a matter of seconds. In his periphery, the bartender tosses a hand towel over his shoulder before turning to organize a few bottles on the bottom shelf, and the quiet beat of some song with a heavy bass fills the canyon of silence that has settled between him and Elizabeth.

With her frigid gaze returns to his, it’s clear that he’s pushed her too far.

He feels the fight drain out of him as she slowly shakes her head, her blue eyes distant and cold as she bends down for something resting beneath her barstool. When she breaks her gaze from his, her motions are quicker, more deliberate, as she pulls her purse into her lap, yanking out her wallet and dropping two twenties onto the counter. 

“Elizabeth,” he sighs, but she won’t meet his eyes as she pulls her purse over her shoulder and moves to slip off of her stool. He rocks his jaw as he watches her, feeling conflicted, but reaches into the back pocket of his jeans for his wallet as soon as her heeled boots hit the floor. He tosses a few bills on top of hers, sliding off of his stool just as the Elizabeth is elbowing her way past the front door.

The night air bites at Rio’s skin when he pushes out of the bar, but all he can focus on is keeping pace with her as she briskly turns around the corner of the building. Her posture is stiff and guarded as she quickens her pace, clearly beelining for her minivan that he can see parked near the end of the side lot, and an irritated breath escapes him as he lengthens his strides. As soon as he’s close enough, he catches her by the elbow, gripping it firmly as he tugs her back in his direction. The gasp that escapes her sounds like a pin dropping in the dead silence of the night surrounding them and before she even glances back at him, she’s shoving hard at his chest with her free hand.

“Elizabeth,” he tries again, unable to mask his frustration as it bleeds into his tone, but it’s like he hasn’t even spoken because she’s shoving at him again, more forcefully this time, and it’s like a switch has been flipped in him as he captures her hand mid-push. He spins them, backing her up against the brick wall of the building, and she steels her arm in the same moment that she meets his dark gaze. 

He slowly lowers her hand from his chest, squeezing it once in warning as he grits out, “Don’t.”

Elizabeth swallows thickly, jutting her chin up at him as he releases her hand. He huffs out a pissed-off sigh, loosening his grip on her elbow but not enough that he lets her go. He’s so close to her that he can make out several different clusters of freckles dotting her alabaster skin, and he absently runs his tongue between his lips, wetting them, before his gaze wanders back to hers.

He’s the first to break the silence, the words tumbling from his mouth in a low drawl before he can think better of them.

“Why d’you think you're still alive, mama?”

Elizabeth’s eyes widen almost comically at that, except there’s nothing comical about any of this, and Rio desperately wishes that he had it in him to pretend like there is. Her lips part silently and she blinks a few times, turning the question over in her head, clearly not trusting how he’ll react to her answer. Or, rather, not trusting _him_.

“You said it yourself,” she replies cautiously, simplistically. “You need me alive.”

“Sure,” he concurs, his tone deceptively casual. “Just not in the way you been thinkin’.”

His eyes drill into hers as his words crowd between them, willing her to understand him, to accept the confession he can’t say aloud — to just _hear_ _him,_ but the lack of comprehension in her expression is as clear as day.

“Wha— what does that mean?” She questions, shaking her head almost absently as she squints at him, and he can see the exact moment that she reaches her conclusion.

Her eyes narrow into slits as her lips twist with renewed fury. “I know that you might think I’m a disposable source of income, but the printing operation is _mine._ I’d rather be shot right here than be used by you again.”

He shakes his head, his frustration rapidly mounting. “You ain’t listenin’, Elizabeth.”

“Right, because it’s my fault that I can’t read your mind when you don’t tell me _any_ —”

“Nuh, I mean you ain’t _hearin’ me_ ,” Rio snaps, his voice echoing off the asphalt beneath their feet before settling heavily in what little space is left between them. Elizabeth’s mouth shuts abruptly at his words, her eyebrows pinching together as her fury gives way to confusion, and he can tell she’s trying her hardest to read between the lines, to understand what she isn’t _getting,_ but her accusations have died on her tongue and she isn’t posing any further questions.

A few suffocating beats of silence pass between them as they study each other, the only other sound besides the whir of a distant highway being the exchange of their breaths. Finally, a look of dawning realization passes through Elizabeth’s wide blue eyes, and Rio doesn’t think she even realizes when her lips part, but it’s all he can focus on once he’s noticed it. His eyes drop to them, tracing the plush outline of them despite himself as he recalls how they’d felt against his own in her bedroom — a memory that feels almost as foreign as the concept of a life without her in it, and the realization of _that_ hits him like a derailed train.

There’s movement in his periphery a moment later, and he shakes himself free of his thoughts as Elizabeth raises her free hand between them. Intrigue colors his vision even as he tracks the movement cautiously, and he stutters out a breath when her fingers tentatively dance across the right side of his chest, barely dipping beneath the opening of his denim jacket. He clenches his jaw as his gaze flits back to hers, biting down on the urge to rip her hand away. That urge lessens significantly when her gaze reluctantly raises from his chest and returns to his own, her fingers drifting over his sternum and dipping a bit lower. It takes him a moment to realize what she’s doing, and when he does, he inhales sharply, the sound resembling the crack of a whip against the deafening silence that surrounds them.

She’s tracing his scars.

He knows that she can’t possibly remember the exact spots they’re in, and he in no way intends on showing her, but he takes the act for what it is — doesn’t trouble himself with dissecting the possible intentions behind it, because he’s required to do so in his line of work every damn day, and he’s tired of trying to convince himself that Elizabeth isn’t more than that.

Subconsciously, he tightens his grip on her, his fingers curling against the sensitive flesh of her inner elbow as her fingers graze over the buttons on his shirt. His lips part as her gaze burns a little brighter, her feather-light touch descending over his abdomen, and he sucks in a breath when it stalls at his belt. He thinks his grip must be tight enough to bruise at this point but she doesn’t acknowledge it, her breaths passing her lips in shallow pants now as she hooks a finger through one of his belt loops. There’s a flicker of hesitance in her expression as she searches his face, seeking something — assurance or objection, he’s not sure — and tightening her hold when she appears to find it. A stuttered breath escapes her before she’s tugging on the belt loop, pulling him in by his hips until she’s practically pinned against the wall, and he’s trying to figure out what she’s doing when her hand darts from his waistband to the back of his neck, yanking him down and crashing her lips against his.

The last shred of Rio’s restraint is reduced to ashes beneath the heat of her touch. He returns her kiss with an equally bruising force as he releases his grip on her elbow, both of his hands grasping at her hips and squeezing them firmly. He feels her hipbones beneath the pads of his thumbs as he grips her tight, kneading the flesh there in small circles as his mouth slants feverishly over hers. Elizabeth’s nails prick at the skin of his neck as she pulls him closer, her other hand grasping at his shoulder for balance. He feels light-headed, delirious, and a little out of his mind as his hands roam over her curves, past sensations clashing with new as she presses her body to his. It’s all so familiar and entirely too foreign, and he thinks about how she shot him, about how he’s come so close to returning the favor more times than he can count. He also knows that he should still intend to go through with it, that her breathing against him right now is a temporary measure while he gets back on his feet and pays his dues, but reminding himself of every reason why it’s wrong to want her doesn’t even come close to trumping how right it feels in this moment.

As soon as he licks into her mouth, the kiss becomes a flurry of teeth and tongue. His tongue brushes against the roof of her mouth before she takes his bottom lip between her teeth, biting down hard enough to elicit a hiss from him, and he retaliates by sliding a hand over her ribs until he’s gripping her breast through her sweater. When he squeezes her, it isn’t gentle, and the whimper that she empties into his mouth causes heat to spike through his abdomen. He can feel himself hardening in the confines of his jeans and he gives her breast another rough squeeze before dipping his hand beneath her sweater, suddenly frustrated by the lack of bare skin between them. He feels the lace trim of her bra beneath his fingertips before he yanks the cup down, gliding his hand along the soft skin of her breast and pinching her nipple roughly. 

Elizabeth breaks the kiss with a soft whine, her lips hovering just out of reach as she drops both of her hands to his belt, her fingers fumbling with the buckle. Rio lifts his free hand from her waist so that he can cup her jaw, his fingers spreading there and drifting into her hair. Then, just as she pulls the leather free from the buckle’s frame, he gathers as much of her hair as he can in his grip and tightens it, tugging her head back enough to expose the line of her pale neck and startle her into stalling her hands. With one last pinch of her nipple, he pulls his hand out from underneath her sweater so that he can bat her hands away from his belt. 

The glare she gives him is fierce, and he feels himself twitch in his pants at the sight as his gaze narrows on her swollen lips. Her breaths are coming in fast and uneven, and he can’t resist the urge to tease her a bit. He cants his face towards hers, hovering close enough that their lips barely brush together, but instead of reconnecting them, he dips his head lower and latches onto the skin just above her collarbone. A breathy moan escapes her as she frantically clutches at his forearm, digging her nails into the denim of his jacket when he nips her and licks over the spot. His one hand keeps her hair taut in his grip while the other drops to undo the buckle on his belt himself. It’s more of a challenge to do it one-handed, but it’s a fair trade for the bit of control it establishes. He’s just finished sucking a hickey onto her neck when he gets the buckle open and releases his grip on her hair, freeing his hands so that he can lower them to the backs of her thighs and hoist her into the air.

Elizabeth’s gasp is sharp and breathless as her feet leave the ground. She’s got just enough sense in her current state to wrap her legs around his hips as he presses her against the wall, hastily shoving a leg between hers to support her weight. Her hands dart to his shoulders, one of them fisting in the collar of his jacket while the other curls around the back of his neck, and he stifles a groan when her hips buck against his. It’s as though the only breathable air is the air that they’re sharing in the minuscule space between them — the world condensed to the timeless bubble they’ve created for themselves.

Rio curls one hand around her hip, keeping her pinned to the wall while the other hand drops between them to pop open the button on her jeans. Elizabeth drops a hand to her waistband, shoving her jeans down over her ass before dropping one of her legs from his hip. From there, she slips it free from her pants leg before shifting to do the same with the other leg. He assists her as best as he can, grappling at the denim covering her until all he can see is the translucent skin of her thighs, and when he settles his thigh back up against her cunt, it draws a half-choked whine from her throat. He buries his smirk in the crook of her neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses across it until his nose brushes against the shell of her ear.

She squirms against him, grinding herself against his denim-covered thigh as soft moans tumble from her lips. A groan claws its way out of his throat, escaping him as a gravelly hum as he takes the lobe of her ear between his teeth. She shivers against him as she hooks an arm around his shoulders, clutching him tighter and crying out when he bites down a bit harder. 

She drops a hand between them, then, ghosting over the outline of him in his jeans before fumbling with the button. This time, he doesn’t bother stopping her.

Elizabeth doesn’t hesitate once she’s pulled his fly down — her hand dipping beneath the waistband of his briefs and gripping him firmly — and Rio pulls back from her immediately with a sharp grunt. He removes his hand from her waist, lowering it between them until his fingers are brushing against the waistband of her panties. She releases him with a gasp, her hand flying back to his shoulder at the sudden lack of balance. He hardly notices the loss of contact as he tugs the crotch of her panties to the side, a gruff noise escaping him when his fingers glide through the wetness there. He slides a finger into her, drawing a louder gasp from her as he leans in to nip a path along her jaw. He follows the first finger with a second only a moment later, his thumb finding her clit and rounding it in tight circles. 

A low hum emerges from the back of her throat as Elizabeth rolls her hips against him. Rio quickens his ministrations, curling his fingers against her front walls just to hear her breath catch. When he glances up at her, her lips are parted, her breaths coming and going in short pants, and the pout of her lower lip is too tempting to ignore as he leans forward to capture it between his teeth. She clenches around his fingers as he bites down on it, and the sensation fills him with more hunger than he’s felt in years. He crooks his fingers once more before he slips them out of her cunt, swiping roughly at her clit with his thumb before he pulls away entirely. 

Elizabeth’s objection is audible but fleeting once she picks up on his intentions, and she’s dropping a hand to free him from his underwear at the same time that Rio grips the waistband of hers, yanking it with enough force that the elastic snaps in half. She hisses into his ear, her face close enough to his that he can feel her hot breath against his skin as he tugs the torn fabric away from her hip, abandoning it near the middle of her thigh. She digs her nails into his neck in reprisal as she wraps a small hand around his hard cock, thumbing the tip of it as a groan tumbles from his lips. Both his hands firm their grip beneath her thighs as he lifts her a bit further against the wall, their heavy pants like white noise in his ears as she sets the head of his cock against her slit. 

She’s so _wet_ for him, so ready for him — as desperate for him as he is for her _,_ and he can feel the last thread of his patience snap when she wraps an arm around both his shoulders, bracing herself like she did the first time they did this no more than thirty feet from where they stand now.

Rio pushes into her without warning, burying himself to the hilt in one sharp thrust, and he clutches her thighs tighter when Elizabeth’s gasp morphs into a breathless moan. Her fingers curl in the fabric of his jacket at his shoulder, pulling his chest to hers, and he wishes that he’d discarded her sweater, too, but he doesn’t dwell on the thought for long when she clenches around him, her hips squirming restlessly against his. 

He pulls out until it’s just the head that’s inside her, his gaze fixating on where they’re connected when an intrinsic urge overcomes him like fire to a stack of logs that’s been coated in kerosene. He’s felt it before, but never this fiercely — the urge to remind her of everything that he can make her feel, of everything that he _is_ to her, because _she’s_ more to him than she was ever supposed to be.

The thought builds momentum rapidly as Rio moves a hand between them, taking his cock, now slick with her wetness, in hand and dragging it through her folds at a leisurely pace. He hears Elizabeth’s breath hitch like a pin dropping and finds her gaze tracking the movement when he pulls his own away from it. Her breaths start coming in a bit faster as her big blue eyes burn with lust and something else he can’t name, and they snap back up to meet his when he presses the head of his cock against her clit. She squirms beneath the intensity of his gaze, wriggling her hips again, desperate for more friction, and he knows he’s got her.

Rio leans into her, tilting his head so that his lips are brushing against the shell of her ear as he drawls, “D’you still think about it?”

Elizabeth’s breath catches in her throat, her entire body tensing against him, and he rubs the head of his cock over her cunt at an infuriating pace when his question is met by her silence. A sharp breath escapes her but her lips remain sealed, so he replaces the head of his cock with two of his fingers, shoving them into her roughly before curling them in a hooking motion. She keens, burying her face in his neck as she rolls her hips against his hand, but he gives her nothing more, his fingers stilling deep inside her cunt. She pants wetly into the crook of his neck, and he can sense her desperation in the movement of her hips, in the shiver that rolls through her when he curves his fingers against her front walls again. A surge of triumph sparks in his chest, but it isn’t enough. 

“I think you do,” He rasps, hardly recognizing the sultry timbre of his voice. “‘Cause outta all the places to drink, I found you here.”

A third finger coaxes at her entrance as he continues to rub that same spot inside her, feeling her walls flutter around his fingers in time with their movement. She mouths briefly against the skin of his neck as she whimpers, his dick twitching against her thigh in response, but his determination precedes his desire, if only for right now, as he raises his thumb to her clit. He rounds the swollen nub in broad, gentle circles, drawing out the sensation in a way that deliberately tests her patience.

He feels drunk off of her — his fingers buried in her wet heat, her stuttered breaths hitting his neck, her high-pitched noises filling his ears; the taste of her lips still lingering on his tongue. He licks his lips, steeling himself before he eases a third finger into her alongside the others. She jolts in his grip, her body flinching away from his fingers, but he just hushes her, curling his fingers slowly as she loosens around them.

“It feel like this when you do it yourself, mama?”

Elizabeth draws her head up from his shoulder, exhaling a shaky breath as she shakes her head. Rio’s eyes burn into her, even when her gaze drops between them, his thumb drawing tighter circles around her clit. His nose brushes against hers now that her face is in front of his again and he tilts his head so that he can his lips on hers, taking her pouting lip between his teeth as he starts to thrust his fingers in and out of her. She hums, the sound low and controlled, and his tongue darts out to soothe the bite on her lip.

“It feel like it did then?” Rio murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, barely audible through her labored breaths. Elizabeth doesn’t respond, her eyes falling shut, but it’s fine, he thinks, working his fingers a little faster — she doesn’t have to talk, but she’s going to listen.

“C’mon, darlin’, don’t tell me you forgot,” he prods, reveling in how out of place such cordial teasing sounds. “‘Cause I haven’t.”

Her head tips back as a series of moans tumble from her lips and he follows, unable to tolerate any distance between them, bringing his lips to her ear again.

“See, it don’t matter what I do. It don’t matter if I got another girl beneath me, ‘cause they just remind me o’ all the ways they ain’t you.”

Elizabeth whimpers, and he feels her grip on his shoulder release before her fingers are wrapping around his wrist between her legs, stalling his movements, and when she unleashes the full force of those wide blue eyes on him, he can’t bear the thought of looking away ever again.

He huffs out a laugh, something vaguely jaundiced that’s void of any humor, feeling suddenly breathless as her walls flutter around his fingers. “I can’t fuckin’ forget you, Elizabeth. And it just ain’t fair.”

As soon as the words are out, Rio doesn’t give her any time to react to them. He’s slipping his fingers out of her and guiding the head of his cock to her entrance before she has the chance to object, and for a fleeting, gentle moment, he tips his forehead to rest against hers. Their ragged breaths intermingle between their parted lips, and even if the only thing he’s capable of thinking right now is desperately he wants her, he doesn’t move an inch until he feels her head nudge against his with a nod — a silent encouragement.

He pushes into her with one sharp thrust, his fingers spreading across the backs of her thighs and clutching her tighter as she rolls her hips to meet him. She cries out against his lips just as a low groan tears from his throat, and then he’s kissing her, her head nearly colliding with the bricks behind it as he presses his lips to her own. The taste of her is almost as intoxicating as the warmth of her cunt, and he can feel his control unraveling as she overwhelms his senses. He wants to peel off her every layer until he can’t possibly get any closer — wants to start every morning with the taste of her on his tongue, the feel of her skin beneath his palms, the sound of her voice filling his ears, the smell of her floral perfume beneath his nose, just — just wants _her,_ despite all the ways that he knows he can never have her.

Elizabeth squirms in his arms as his thrusts become more insistent, and Rio grins against her lips, relishing in the fact that she has no leverage in her position, pinned by his hips with no other choice but to take it. He snaps his hips against hers, driving as deep as he can go and swallowing the moan that pours from her lips in response. Her teeth close around his bottom lip, then, biting and tugging at it even as her body trembles against his. He can feel her control slipping away as she curls both hands around the back of his neck, preventing his lips from leaving hers, and he slips a hand between her legs as he fucks her harder into the bricks at her back.

She chokes on a whine when he gets his thumb on her clit, and he swallows the sound as he traces quick circles around the swollen nub. He feels her start to pulse around him, her breaths coming and going in sharp gasps, before he replaces the pad of his thumb with the knuckle, pressing harder and rubbing incessantly until she’s tumbling over the edge with a hoarse cry. His lips find hers and he captures the sound as he fucks her through her peak, her muscles jumping beneath him when he applies more pressure to her sensitive clit. She clenches harder around him, drawing a groan from deep in his chest, and her hand flies to his wrist as she bites hard at his lower lip.

Rio finally relents when Elizabeth’s grip begins to tighten and slips his hand back beneath her, clutching at the soft skin of her thighs as he hikes her up and quickens his pace. The sounds they’re making are downright obscene, the snap of his hips against hers echoing like a firecracker popping against concrete, but they’re both too far gone to care as he chases after his peak, losing himself in her as he drags his lips across her pale neck. He shifts to suck a bruise into her skin as the coiled thread of heat pulls taut in his lower abdomen, and when she slaps a hand against the back of his neck, his hand glides from the back of her thigh until it's cupping the back of her knee. He lifts her leg a bit higher, tucking her calf beneath his arm and practically growling against her skin once he pushes into her again, his cock brushing a patch of nerves deep inside her that has her clenching around him with a throaty whine.

After that, the rhythm they'd established is quick to derail. Rio crashes his lips against hers as the thread of heat in him snaps in two, his hips stuttering as he buries himself deep in Elizabeth's wet heat. Distantly, he feels her touch against the skin of his neck, her hand smoothing over his nape as he unravels. His breaths are hot and heavy against her lips as he comes down from his high, pressing her into the wall as he bears more of his weight against her. 

When he blinks his eyes open, she’s already met him halfway, her blue eyes shining a bit in the eerie glow of the streetlight, and he has to pull his face away from hers a few inches before he catches sight of the sparse tear tracks glistening against her translucent skin. His brows draw together as he pulls back a bit further, startled by the sight, but the hand at his neck steels him, holding him close as their breaths pass between their lips just the same as every unspoken word that’s exchanged through their gazes. Then, a hand at his chest, pulling him from his reverie as Elizabeth splays her fingers over his sternum. A fresh tear escapes her when she attempts to blink it away, and Rio hears the apology he knows she can’t say as her fingers press against his chest through the thin layer of his shirt.

He tilts his head forward until it comes to rest against her own, their breaths evening out in time with one another, and he knows that eventually he’ll have to pull away — that she’ll return to that big house with all her babies and that dumbass husband in it, filing the last hour away as another slip up that can’t be repeated — but he also knows that he’s punished himself for every single thing he’s felt about her this past month, and now that he’s given into his greatest urge, he’s not sure what will happen when he lets go.

A few beats pass before he pulls away again, his lips hovering no more than an inch from her skin as he chases the lone tear away with a kiss. Her skin is soft and feverish beneath his lips, and a weighted sigh escapes him as she trembles beneath his touch. The moment feels too raw, too tender to be shared between them after all the pain they’ve caused one another, and he thinks she feels it too when his gaze meets hers again.

Elizabeth blinks at him a few times before she shifts her weight against him, and it has the effect of pulling Rio back to his senses as he staggers back a step, lifting her just enough to slip out of her before gradually lowering her until he feet find the ground again. She staggers a bit, too, her back finding the wall as she regains feeling in her legs, and their gazes lock for another painfully silent beat before hers breaks away to where her pants had landed on the concrete beside them.

He busies himself with righting his own clothing, tucking himself back into his pants and redoing his belt buckle as she reaches down for her own. He averts his gaze from her as he does so, but it wanders back once he’s finished, and he’s left to take in the soft curves of her figure as she pulls her jeans back on, covering up her long legs and the swell of her ass before button them at the front. He thinks that she can feel his gaze on her, but she pointedly ignores it until she bends down to recover her torn panties from the ground. When her eyes return to him with a look of exasperation, he’s struck by how closely her expression mirrors the one she’d worn that night in the bathroom — more so, he’s struck by how badly he wants to reach for her and kiss it away. But the longer they stand here opposite each other — their frozen clarity thawing out and the weight of their decision sinking in like drops of acid hitting their skin — the more he can feel the blurred line between them sharpening again, and he knows that it’s in his best interest to return those urges to where they’d been buried before tonight.

Elizabeth bunches the torn fabric in her hand as her eyes dart between his, a question dancing behind them that he warily spots through her apprehension — and maybe it’s the magnitude of everything they’ve discussed tonight or the strange bubble of a truce that they’ve created in the process, or him being just blissed out enough to not give a fuck about his regrets right now — but regardless of how murky the grey area between them feels, he musters up what’s left of his patience and waits for her to speak.

“You never told me what you meant earlier. About why I’m still alive,” she says quietly, fiddling with the seam of her panties that he’d torn, and the noise seems to ricochet off the wall behind her when he breathes out a heavy sigh.

“It don’t matter,” he rasps, his throat raw from the past half hour, and he doesn’t meet her eye as she huffs out a sharp breath below him.

“Is it so hard for you to give me a real answer?”

Rio’s eyes flit back to hers, then, a small flame sparking in him at the thought of all he’s told her tonight, of everything he’s given her that he’s never given to any other person, of how far she’s burrowed beneath his skin, of all the rules he’s broken with her that he put in place to protect himself, and then he’s crowding her back against the bricks, his body much closer to hers than it should be for him to maintain a clear headspace. 

“Sweetheart, you got no idea.”

Her breathing picks up as heat flares behind those wide blue doe eyes, and he curses himself for not backing away when he had the chance.

“Sleep well, yeah?” He murmurs, his fingers coming up to brush her hair out of her face as his other hand wraps around her own. She tightens her hold on the torn fabric as his fingers brush over it, and the smirk that blooms across his lips is lecherous.

“You can keep ‘em this time,” he purrs, tucking his lips close to her ear as he brushes his thumb soothingly over her knuckles.” Somethin’ to hold onto when you alone in that big ol’ bed.”

Rio pulls away from her, then, the cold air nipping at the skin her breath had only just kissed, and he’s reluctant to slide his hands off of her as she blinks up at him, her full lips parted and dangerously tempting. He leaves her there, leaning heavily against the wall of the bar that holds entirely too many memories, and strides off in the opposite direction. 

When he climbs into his car and scrubs a hand harshly over his face, she’s still in the same spot, her impossibly bright eyes seeking out his in the sliver of moonlight illuminating the car park. He holds her gaze for a moment longer than he probably should, a million thoughts spurring and clashing in his head at the sight of her disheveled form, but he’s starting the car and pulling onto the main road before any of them can break through to the surface.

**Author's Note:**

> hey friends, long time no see! i hope you're all safe at home and settling into your routines during this weird time.  
> if you haven't tried doing so already and are feeling a bit overwhelmed by your thoughts, i really encourage you to engage yourself with some sort of creative outlet. for me, writing has always been a very effective method of self-soothing during uneasy times like these, and it makes big changes a lot easier to process when you free some of the thoughts taking up space in your brain.  
> anyway, that's all from me for now! i hope you enjoyed, thank you so much for reading, and please remember to be kind to yourselves.


End file.
